The Fight
by Love Out Of Lust
Summary: One shot. Based on the upcoming spoilers, Ste and Brendan fall out after Amy comes to visit.


You hear him come in at one in the morning, can tell straight away that he's been drinking. You can hear Steven tiptoeing along the carpet, before that awful moment when he remembers that he has no tiny children to wake up anymore, and he stops trying to be quiet, walks into furniture and causes a lamp to tumble to the ground, the crash of it making you wince.

You want to get out of bed and see if he's alright, but you don't want to make him even more agitated in the state he's in, can't bear another argument. Part of you is waiting to see if he'll come into the room, slip his clothes off and crawl beneath the covers, if he'll lie close to you, if he'll even let you touch him again. But for the fourth time that week he makes a bed on the sofa.

It's impossible for you to get back to sleep afterwards. You know you're in for another restless night, tossing and turning in the covers, your mind constantly on him, on what you could possibly do to make it right in the morning, to return things back to how they used to be.

You wonder how this could have happened in the space of a couple of days, on the Monday you and Steven waking up in bed together after you'd been living in his flat for a week, you feeling on top of the fucking world. You'd moved all your stuff in, and his drawers were _your_ drawers now. You no longer had to leave him every night out of some obligation to Cheryl, no longer had to go home and face Seamus, missing the presence of Steven, his voice, his face, his compliant body.

It had gone better than you'd dreamed of at first. The kids no longer fazed you, you'd even come to love the little tearaways. You _liked_ that feeling of belonging to a family, something you'd never consciously known you'd been looking for. It wasn't always easy to have sex with them around, not like in the old days when you and Steven had worked together, and you'd called him into the office under the pretense of sorting out the rota, only to push him back against the door, hike his uniform up, suck the skin of his nipples and grip a hand firmly against his cock.

Now you had to be extra careful, Steven not even having a lock on his bedroom door. You'd try to prop a chair up against it, or looked into the kids bedrooms and made sure that they'd been sound asleep, but it still wasn't a concrete assurance of anything. You'd began to get careless, reckless, your need for each others bodies stronger than thinking about rules or obeying the common laws of decency.

It had been no big deal at first. Okay, so Leah had walked in on you and Steven when you were both shirtless, when he was pushing you down on the bed, about to give you what you were pretty sure would be one of the best blowjobs of your life. But it was still salvageable. She hadn't exactly seen anything that couldn't be explained away, and you and Steven made a real job of it. Play fighting. Wrestling. You couldn't keep a straight face through it, so Steven had to take over, explain to his little girl that _"Daddy and Daddy Brendan were just messing around, having a bit of fun." _

Leah was a smart one, and even at five years old you weren't so sure that she'd believe you, but she didn't push it, and you'd honestly thought that was it. Done, dusted, firmly consigned to the past, and you and Steven could get on with your _wrestling_.

You should have known that _he_ couldn't keep his nose out of it, couldn't resist sticking his ore in and ruining everything. Douglas fucking Carter. You'd actually started to dare to believe that he wanted to move on, that he was just back for the business and those idiot friends of his, not here to enter some contest where Steven was the prize.

It didn't take much to connect the pieces together. Leah had talked to Douglas about the "wrestling". He'd interpreted it the way only he could in that small pea brain of his, and thought you were hitting Steven, as if...as if that was something you would ever do again. It could hardly be a coincidence that the next day Amy Barnes rolled up, expression on her that was enough to scare thunder away. You'd never much liked her, hated the way she made assessments of you like she was a fucking therapist, had a PHD in Brendan Brady studies. Steven's connection with her was enough to make you stop sending her far away though, stitching her up like you'd tried to do to Rae when you planted drugs on her.

You'd wanted her to know about you and Steven, had nearly phoned her up yourself. You don't know what you'd imagined - that she'd invite herself for tea and offer her congratulations like the first time she'd found out? Call you _nice_ again? Only this time you wouldn't laugh, you wouldn't say _"you so don't know me"_, even if it's what you felt. You'd say yeah, I'm trying to be, I'm trying to be a better man for _him_.

Amy didn't even give you a chance to put the fucking kettle on, just stormed right through, kept Leah and Lucas close beside her, like she was trying to shield them from you. That hurt, like a knife to your gut, because you'd do anything for those kids, would protect them with your life if you had to. You didn't understand how she didn't get it, that you would do anything for Steven, would even forget about your feelings for her if it meant he could be happy.

She only stayed for a few days, but the carnage it caused lasted longer. She called you everything, _selfish_ and an _abuser_ and _dangerous_ and _toxic_. Steven argued back, defending you more than you deserved to be defended, because she was right, not a single one of the things she said was a lie. But your boy had always been like that, had seen the good in you even when you couldn't see it yourself. He said _he's changed_ like it was his new mantra, seemed to have it stuck on repeat like a broken record, and you wondered whether it was sounding as dead to Amy as it did to you. You weren't entirely sure what change was, wasn't something you could taste or smell or feel or even see somedays. You just knew that you couldn't go back to what you'd been before, couldn't keep on hurting Steven, couldn't wreck this thing you'd built together, which was still shaky in its foundations in so many ways.

She'd said the words then that you'd been dreading, dreading because you knew what the answer would be, that you'd be the one left behind._ "It's Brendan or the kids."_ Except he hadn't left you. He'd pleaded and cried and all but clung onto Amy's feet as she'd tried to leave, furious. But he hadn't turned around and delivered you the blow, _"I'm leaving you, Brendan."_ He'd told you two weeks ago that you would lose every time next to Leah and Lucas, but here he was, not giving Amy an answer, so that in the end the only answer that was offered was a no. No, he wasn't going to choose, so no, he lost them.

You were dazed, couldn't even begin to imagine what he felt like. You'd seen Eileen at Christmas when she'd refused to let you spend time with Declan and Paddy, but it wasn't like this, wasn't nearly as raw. You'd had a lifetime of letting them down, of Eileen calling you an incompetent parent when you'd cheated on her, and even before then you'd often chosen to spend your time picking up some lad when you should have been with them. But this was new to Steven. Ever since you'd known him he'd been with his kids, had lived with them and clothed them and fed them, had been the kind of father you wished you'd been. And just like that, the sound of the kids laughter and shouting and playing was gone, and it was just you and him. You'd wished for it at times, wished that you could have some private space just for the two of you, but now that it was here and you were faced with his devastation, you longed to bring them back, to see them fill the empty place in him again.

You'd tried to reach out to him, tried to gather him in your arms, give him some of that same strength that he'd been giving you lately. Every time you'd thought you were on your own with Seamus, there he was, refusing to let you go, your anchor to reality and safety. You desperately wanted to return the favour, but he'd shrunk from your touch, had walked straight to his room and slammed the door, not coming out for hours. You tried to come in but he'd told you he'd wanted to be on his own. You'd taken a walk, thought it was best to give you both some time for the air to clear, hoped it would fix something which you felt had been shattered.

You came back that evening with a takeaway, wanted to do everything to cheer Steven up, even if it was as small and pathetic as something from the local Chinese. He was still in his room, slumped out on his bed, not sleeping but just staring at the ceiling. This wasn't like him, was the entire opposite of him. He always had energy, was always on the go and had an endless amount of enthusiasm, was the one who told _you_ to get out of a bad mood. He didn't even say anything when you came in, and you thought that at least might be a good sign, that maybe he was thawing.

You smiled at him, but it felt weak, not enough. You held out the Chinese. "Got you some dinner."

"I'm not hungry."

"Come on Steven, you've got to eat something, you must be starving."

"I said I'm not hungry." His voice was cold, firm. Even when you'd been arguing at the club over Seamus he'd had passion there, a spark. You knew he hadn't hated you, that he'd just been frustrated, longed to understand what the fuck was going on in your head. But now there was nothing there. He just seemed truly sick of you, and you couldn't blame him. _You_ were sick of you, nauseated by the way you screwed everything up. It was bad enough when you were messing up your own life, but now you'd infected his worse than ever, taken away the people he loved the most. You were sure that he'd exchange you for the kids in a heartbeat right then if he could of.

You wanted to kiss him, but you knew it wasn't a good time, that the last thing Steven was probably thinking of was that. It felt strange though, you were so used to it now. It had even extended to public, the way you would lean over to brush your lips together in the village, the way you'd slap his arse in Chez Chez. You were proud of him even if you'd never put it into those words, proud that he was yours, and after waiting for two years you'd felt like you'd earned it, that it was yours to show off.

You hated having this distance between you, and propped yourself onto the other side of the bed just to feel closer to him, sat up on the pillow and began to eat your takeaway, hoping the sight of it would convince him to eat something too.

Steven changed his position, lying with his back to you. He'd get like this sometimes, would sulk when you would keep the remote control from him and watch something different on tv to what Steven wanted to see. He'd face away and pout, crossing his arms in a defiant gesture. You'd teased him, "You going to be like this all night, Steven? I thought you had big plans for us? Said you were going to fuck me when the kids are asleep."

Steven had sniffed, "You can forget about that." You'd grinned, few things you loved more than when he got mouthy with you and you got to coax him back to you. Making up was the best part, and it never took long for him to forget about his bad mood when you'd scoot closer and start sucking on his earlobe. You'd feel him succumbing to it, disintegrating under your touch, and he'd be all over you then, clawing at you, mounting you, encouraging you to be rough with him, almost begging for you to put him in his place and pin him to the bed, fuck him so hard that it felt like the earth was moving.

Somethings shifted though, something you can't get back. This isn't about the fucking remote control, this about his _children_. You're useless at this, feel more comfortable walking away from someone when they're in need than standing by them, trying to help them come out the other end. But this isn't like all those other times before, when you've bailed on him when he's needed you the most. You've only said it out loud once, in a bloody Katy Perry song of all things, but you're not so closed off to not admit it to yourself, that Steven's your boyfriend, and that requires you to stick around, to be there through all the shitty times.

So you ignore the aching feeling you get when he decides to sleep on the sofa the first night after the kids are gone. He doesn't even say anything to you, just grabs the duvet and walks away from you when you're lying in the bed, expecting for him to join you. You weren't even going to ask for sex, hardly expecting him to be in the mood for it after what he'd gone through that day. But you hadn't bargained on Steven not even wanting to be near you.

You'd resisted the urge to call out to him, to try and sort it out there and then. You wanted him to scream at you if that's what it took, anything but the silent treatment. But you did nothing, felt ineffective as hell, but were afraid of making it worse, kept on repeating to yourself in your mind, _he'll feel better tomorrow, he just needs time. _

Except the next morning you'd found Steven still lying on the sofa when he was meant to be at the deli. You'd toyed with going over there to tell Douglas that he was ill, but what you really wanted to do was kill the kid, let him know what he'd caused, that if he'd wanted to take the only perfect thing in your life away from you then he'd succeeded, gold fucking star for him.

The rational part of you that you hadn't even known existed had stopped yourself, known that you'd lose your temper and actually end up doing some bodily damage to the kid, especially if you saw that smug look of satisfaction on his face.

Instead you'd stayed at home, only going out to get a spare pint of milk for Steven's breakfast, dashing to the shops and back, scared he'd be gone by the time you returned. You didn't have to be in the club till later, and you half considered calling in sick yourself, doubted you could concentrate on anything knowing he was being like this with you.

He woke around noon, and you guessed he'd had a sleepless night. It couldn't have been comfortable on the hard sofa, and you wished he'd forgotten about being stubborn, wouldn't even have minded if he'd kicked you out of bed and demanded to trade places.

It was beginning to scare you, how much this was affecting you, how you would have given anything to see him happy again. It hadn't been enough to stop you from hurting him in the past, wiping that smile off his face with a punch or a cruel remark. But now you would have put on a fucking chicken costume and danced if you thought it would make things better.

"Hey sleepyhead." You sounded like you were talking to a small child, but you felt the need to be delicate with him right now. Steven was stronger than anyone you knew most days, but breakable was the word that came to mind as you stared down at him, his hair ruffled from a night spent trying to fall asleep in an awkward position. "I didn't know whether to wake you. You were meant to start work three hours ago."

He rubbed his eyes, and you could tell that he'd been crying again, and you hated it, had planned to never be the cause of his tears again.

"I'm not going in, don't feel like it."

"You want me to get you the phone to call Douglas, or...?"

"Doubt he'll even notice I'm gone. Probably too busy flirting with your boy."

You froze at that, didn't know what bothered you more, the idea of him possibly being jealous, jealous over Douglas, or that Steven had just called some other lad _your boy. _

"What are you talking about?" You knew though. You'd seen the McQueen lad sniffing around the deli. When you'd come in to get lunch he'd been propped up against the counter, so immersed in his conversation with Douglas that his order had laid at the side, forgotten.

If you'd known about John Paul's history with Steven then you'd have steered well clear. If you'd known that Steven was going to turn his back on his marriage and travel to Dublin to see you then you wouldn't have even have looked at the boy, much less invited him back to your hotel room. You can't say you mind having him in the village. He barely registers on your radar, but you can tell that it bothers Steven, can never resist giving John Paul an acidic remark, moving even closer towards you, marking out his territory. It suits you fine, you don't need an excuse to get close to him, but watching them argue gives you a fucking headache.

"He's always with John Paul, isn't he? Never bloody leaves us alone, may as well order the Doug Carter sandwich and get it over and done with."

"What makes you care so much?"

You felt that old ugly emotion gnawing at you. Jealousy. God, you hated it. Steven had a tendency to bring it out in you, strong and violent, made you want to build a wall around him and not let anyone else in. You knew he'd be terrified of you if you revealed the true extent of it, that the idea of him and Rae and Noah and Douglas made you _crazy_, made you want to slam your fist against the wall like you had done when Seamus had come into town.

"Just another reminder of your past, isn't it? He loves telling me how he's had you."

"Steven, just ignore him. He's nobody -"

"Yeah, a nobody who you slept with, a nobody who's a McQueen, who I have to see everyday."

You know he wouldn't be saying this if it wasn't for Amy's arrival. Aside from the petty rows between him and John Paul, Steven's barely batted an eyelid, and you_ know_ he must realise how you'd choose him every time, that there's no contest, that the idea's laughable. He's picking apart old wounds that were barely there in the first place.

"This isn't what you're really upset about, is it?" Talking about feelings is something you're terrible at, and you cringe internally, the words sounding unnatural to your ears. But it hadn't all fallen apart when you'd tried last time. Even when you hadn't told him what happened with Seamus, Steven had still been there, had held you and kissed you, had told you he loved you. It's almost started to make you believe that you can do this, that he's not going to leave you humiliated.

He brushed you off though, rose from the sofa and went through to his bedroom, _your_ bedroom, rummaging through the drawers to find something to wear. Things had changed the last few weeks. Gone were the jumpers that he used to wear when he was with Douglas. You hadn't even said anything, didn't want to change a single thing about him, but you'd found him putting them in a black plastic bag one day, ready for the charity shop. _"They're not really me, are they? Never were." _You couldn't say you were upset to see them go, and have the return of the tracksuits. He looked like when you first fell for him, admittedly more mature and even more gorgeous, the insecurity and boyishness replaced with a self assurance, with a masculinity that turned you on, left you gasping for him.

He reached for one of them then, his all in one blue tracksuit. He didn't even bother to ask you to leave, just stripped off his pajamas, his cock swinging between his legs. He wasn't doing it to entice though, none of the usual false coyness on his face when he played with you. He was regimented, looked like he was going through the motions, too tired to protest and push you out of the bedroom.

You couldn't help staring at him, never could resist Steven like this. It had only been a day since you'd slept with him, but you already missed him, didn't know if that was normal, because you used to go weeks, months without having sex, when he was angry with you, when he was with Noah, and then with Douglas, when it had been more than a year since you'd fucked him.

You thought you were turning soft, because it wasn't just the sex you missed. You missed him just being there in the bed beside you, of hearing him as he slept, making soft, muffling sounds. Sometimes he would get cold and ask for you to hold him, and he was still tentative about it even now, as if not entirely sure that you'd let him. You couldn't blame him for that. In the past there had been occasions when you'd told him that his time was up, that you hadn't called him to spend hours cuddling.

These days you got just as much out of it as Steven did. You _liked_ it, the warm feeling of him close to you, the way he molded into your arms effortlessly. Sometimes you forgot that it wasn't like old times, and you didn't have to think of ways to push him away, and go cold on him. You had an endless expanse of time in front of you, your whole lives, and for the first time that you could remember, you were looking forward to it. You had never wanted to die, not properly, not really, not even after you'd tried to kiss Peter and driven the car that had caused the accident, the accident that had left him in a wheelchair. Not even after your father had come into your room when you were eight years old, and put the light out. But now, now at last, you truly wanted to live.

If Steven missed you too then he wasn't showing it. He just slipped his tracksuit bottoms over his hips, flung on his jacket and began heading to the door, you watching and following him the whole time, feeling like an unwanted presence beside him, knowing that's exactly what you were.

"I'm going out. I'll be back late."

"Shall I meet you at the deli later?"

"No." His voice was stiff, sounded a million miles away from you. "I won't be there."

It wasn't like him to let people down, least of all Douglas when he still felt the need to make it up to him. Usually you wouldn't give a shit, would tell Steven to drop Carter and Hay and spend the day with you instead, maybe come round to the club and drink a few beers, see how much weight the office chair could take with him riding you.

But he was going God knows where without you, and you wanted to ask, but _clingy_ wasn't something you did, and the words wouldn't form. You had just stood there while he shut the door in your face, and it was so eerily quiet when he left. You felt it then, how wrong it was without Leah and Lucas, felt just a little bit of what he must be feeling.

You went to work earlier than needed to try and take your mind off Steven. It didn't stop you from nearly being run over because you were checking your phone so intently, trying to will it to receive a message from him. It was scaring you, because Steven didn't just give up like this. He never gave up, had jumped on a plane to come and find you even after you'd hit him again, had been that brave or that stupid, maybe both, but he'd still done it.

The place was quiet except for the new boy you'd hired, Kevin. He was a decent enough barman, and didn't give you any just cause to regret your decision. You were pretty sure you'd have made an entirely different one if you'd been in the right headspace at the time though, and hadn't just argued with Steven over his refusal to tell Amy that Douglas was no longer _daddy Douglas. _You'd been so angry at the whole thing, angry that he was ashamed of you now, when it had always been the other way round, when you'd tried to conceal him and hide him, which had at least given you a sense of power.

Kevin had come to you as if you'd summoned him yourself, all skinny frame, wide eyed, wearing a tracksuit of all things, couldn't be more like Steven if you'd cloned him. A light had gone on in your head, bingo. You'd said it to Anne, you were going to get the kid drunk and have your wicked way with him. All wonderfully simple, and you could forget about this whole relationship business, so complicated, not worth your time.

Except it was fucking worth it, and you didn't even need Anne to spell it out to you, although it helped, was a much needed talking to. You knew you'd only end up hating yourself. Sex was sex, you couldn't deny it drove you, that you were led by your dick a whole lot of the time, but when Steven had walked into your life you'd learned that you wanted a whole lot more, that any other man you met was a pale imitation, good in bed but nothing in your heart, didn't even make an imprint. And you did have a heart despite what you sometimes thought, you _knew_ you did, and you couldn't do that to Steven.

You hadn't fired Kevin though, hadn't really seen the point. It's not like he tempted you, Jesus, the idea was crazy. He was persistent though, more persistent than you would have thought, and the_ "Brendan mate" _and his hand brushing against yours had continued. You were sure you'd caught him listening once when you'd had Steven in the office, the boy so loud that you'd lost all hope of drowning him out and not altering customers to the fact that he had your cock up his ass, you fucking him on the desk.

Steven had swanned out of the office, pleased as punch, wiping the drop of cum off your lips that you'd missed, and there had been Kevin, smiling over by the bar, looked like he had heard the whole show, had had front row tickets.

You couldn't exactly have told the boy off for being a perve, didn't even have any proof that he'd listened in. But you had tried to make him realise that you weren't pleased by the idea, didn't want anyone hearing your boy when he was like that, had made a promise to yourself that you would be the only one who would hear his cries of pleasure again, that no fucking Douglas mark two would get a look in.

You couldn't help yourself from showing your mood that day, in no state of mind for pleasantries. You'll never be known as _nice_ or a _gentleman_, but knowing that Steven will visit you during his lunch break can usually make you at least bother to pretend to not be a dick.

You snapped at Kevin, he hadn't cleaned the glasses properly, and Steven always, always had, was the best barman you ever had, would rearrange the straws perfectly and still have time to give you a blowjob. Not that you're asking for that from this lad, but a little professionalism wouldn't go amiss.

"Someone's in a bad mood. What happened? Fight between you and your boyfriend?"

You wanted to snap at him, ask him why everyone always had to presume that just because he wasn't as high as a fucking kite he'd had an argument with Steven. But nine times out of ten, that was the case.

"It's none of your business. I don't pay you to ask me questions about my personal life."

Kevin didn't give up though, just stared you down, and you weren't used to it, had expected him to run a mile.

"Seems like all you two ever do is fight."

Jesus. The boy's witnessed you and Steven having a couple of slanging matches. So what? You argued, you always had, he would snap at you about you working late hours and not being able to get off, or you'd tease him about his uniform, those chinos that you'd quite happily burn. But it was just what you did, a dance, a back and forth that you could do for the rest of your life, would die a happy man if that's how you spent your final days.

"You our stalker now?"

Kevin shrugged, looked like he was trying to act nonchalant when he was anything but. You'd been alive long enough to know when people were playing with you. "I'm just saying, it must get a bit boring sometimes..."

He did it then, leaned forward and touched your hand, and you couldn't pass it off as an accident then.

"So this is what you do when you're at work, is it?"

The sneaky git. Had crept right up so you hadn't even heard him on the stairs. You'd pulled your hand away from Kevin as fast as lightning, all you could think about was that Steven had visited you, he'd fucking made the effort, he'd wanted to see you, only to catch you...

Oh God.

"No, no..." You weren't even forming coherent sentences, just felt everything dropping away from you, saw Steven's look of betrayal, just like when he'd seen John Paul in your bed.

"Sorry to interrupt, continue without me," he'd snapped, legged it down the stairs before you could get out from behind the bar. You'd heard the door shut, turned back to Kevin, shouted at him, barely remembered what you said afterwards.

You'd locked yourself away in the office, played Johnny Cash like you always did when you wanted to drown the world out, and phoned him, any thoughts of verging on desperate being replaced by your need to talk to him. You _had_ to make this better, didn't know what you'd do if things returned to the way they had been before Dublin. You sensed it would be worse though, that you'd finally tasted what it was like to be with Steven, and now you knew there was no going back.

He didn't pick up his phone though, and you got distracted, your body having to do things, speak to the suppliers, count the petty cash, while your mind was somewhere else entirely, stuck on him. You prayed he'd gone to the deli after all, but you could see from your position on the balcony that he wasn't in there.

It was the first night of four that he came back rotten drunk, stinking of booze. You thought he'd earned the right to drown his sorrows at first, knew that that's all you'd wanted to do when Declan and Paddy had driven away from you on that bus. You were sure that after the first time that would be it, and he'd have got it out of his system, and would let you back in.

If anything his anger became worse, would snap at you when you suggested he come back to your bed, _"Find someone else to sleep with. I'm sure your new barman's willing."_ While you ate your dinner around the table he would take his into his bedroom, and suddenly meals which you'd always loved tasted stale, like cardboard in your mouth.

You can't take it anymore this evening. Your capacity has been stretched to its limit, and you're going to break if you continue.

You get out of bed and make your way over to him. Steven's stood in the kitchen, swigging back a glass of water from the sink, is practically swaying from his intoxication.

He senses you come in, you can see it in his eyes, his stance, which becomes more rigid.

"You're back late."

He laughs, actually giggles. There's no joy in it though, not like there usually is. "Nothing gets past you, Brendan."

"I've had enough of this." You decide to settle on the truth at last, can't skirt around him anymore.

"Oh. You've had enough, have you? Well I'm sorry, I didn't realise I had to be there for _you_ after my kids had left."

You try and stop yourself from swearing. "I'm trying to be here for you Steven, that's the whole point."

He scoffs, like the mere idea is preposterous.

"That's a bit rich, isn't it? You're the one who takes my kids away, and now you're trying to pretend that everything's fine."

It chokes you. You'd known that this was coming, that he was blaming you in his mind the whole time, but it's different hearing him say it out loud.

"I'm sorry. You know I love Leah and Lucas."

"Do you? You yelled at Leah, told her off for kicking your chair -"

"Steven, that was months ago!" You aren't trying to excuse your behaviour, but it had had nothing to do with Leah, and everything to do with your father, his presence at the table overpowering everything else.

"You always hated them." He's making things up now, fabricating stories to use as evidence against you. "You know I've given up everything for you, but what have you ever done for me? All you do is hurt me, sleep with other men -"

"Nothing happened with Kevin, Steven!" You need him to believe this, need him to understand that you would never cheat on him.

"Well maybe it should!"

You stare at him wide eyed, confused, not sure what he's asking you to do. He doesn't look so certain himself, looks more sober than you'd first thought, like he's coming down to earth with a bump.

"Just...go."

You look down at the ground, feel something hot and angry and sad in your eyes, not wanting to leave him. But you're not sure you have much of a choice.

"If you want me to spend the night at Cheryl's..." You think of Seamus waiting there, can picture his triumphant face when he thinks you've had a fight with Steven, can foresee another night spent watching your door, having that fear in you that he's going to come in. Twenty four years have passed since that first happened, but you're still terrified.

"No." You feel a surge of hope for a single glorious moment. "I want you to get out. Forever."

Your blood runs cold, and he's smashed the glass into pieces now in the sink, and is running into his room. You try to keep up, you need to stop this and slow things down, stop the chaos that's erupting all around you, but he's not allowing you time to speak. He opens the drawers but he's not looking for his stuff this time, he's looking for _yours_.

Steven throws your clothes down on the carpet in heaps.

"What are you - Steven, stop."

"You're getting out of here right now. Just leave me alone, just take everything and go."

"Where?" You croak, don't want to go anywhere that doesn't have him in it.

"Anywhere, just - just piss off."

He shoves a suitcase at you, the suitcase that you took to Dublin, and his eyes are blazing.

"You've ruined everything, you've messed it all up and now I have nothing."

"You have me." It sounds weak to your ears, but you need him to hear it, to try and make it mean for him what it meant for you, when he held you and told you he wasn't going to give up on you.

"I hate you."

You were half expecting it, knew that Steven would throw it at you, that he'd gamble on it having maximum impact and rendering you speechless. You believe him, you believe that he probably does hate you, resents you fiercely for not being like Douglas, a decent man who Amy would be proud to leave her kids with, would trust with their care.

You'll never be that man. You don't have it in you, you know your strengths and limitations, and you'll never be _good_. But for his sake, and also your own although it's hard to admit it, you don't want to be bad either.

"That's...that's okay."

He seems momentarily silenced. You've stumped him for the first time.

"It's okay if you hate me. I can live with that. Just...I'm not leaving, alright? We're going to sort this out." You can't believe that _you're_ being the responsible adult about this. Your former self is laughing at you in the corner, mocking you. You want to say _fuck you_ to him, that you're trying this, whatever the consequences may be.

"Get out." Steven's not giving up either, determined little thing, is moving towards you and hitting your chest, looks like he'd happily beat the shit out of you right now and eat a bowl of cereal in celebration over your bloodied form afterwards.

You let him do it, don't make a move to stop him, just stand there taking what he gives you. It hurts, but it's a strange kind of relief. He's finally _doing_ something.

"You can keep hitting me, I'm still going to be here though."

He doesn't seem to have heard you, just continues beating on your chest. You start mumbling, think that you may be inaudible but you don't care, you just need to get it out. _"I'm staying here forever, I'm yours, fucking never leaving you, never could even if I wanted, it's you and me now."_

You've rarely been this honest with him, have been too concerned of scaring him off with your possessiveness, but you let it all tumble out now, and his hands are getting weaker. Whether it's from his natural exhaustion or your words having an effect, you're not sure. You just know that you're trying to cradle him now, trying to hold him at last.

Steven doesn't give up that easily though, spits out "I fucking hate you", loud enough to wake the neighbours.

You've had enough of watching that pretty little mouth of his talk and not being able to claim it, and you shut him up with your lips, smashing yours against his with an intensity that you know he can take, because Steven can take anything, will beg you for more every damn time.

He struggles initially, and you give him the breathing space to push you away if he wants to, because you would never force it, would never even entertain the idea. You're _not_ Seamus, and that fact is finally becoming clear to you.

You can tell he wants it though, can read Steven's body like its your own, know when it's calling to you like it is now, and you push him against the wall. He's still breathing it into your mouth, _"I hate you"_, but it's dying on his lips, sounds more like _"I love you"_ now.

Your boy is fucking wild, shows everything he's been feeling, the anger and the pain and the grief, is pulling at your hair and is coming apart. He shouts, actually shouts at you to fuck him, is scraping his nails against your skin and grappling for your flies, fingers shaking but grip firm as he undoes them, reaches for your cock and begins stroking you.

You can barely keep up with Steven tonight, his hands seem to be everywhere all at once, one second palming your balls and the next cupping your face and drawing you closer for a kiss that's all consuming, tongues rubbing, creating warmth that replaces the coldness that's existed between you for a week.

"What do you want me to do to you?" He breathes heatedly, hands now on your arse, squeezing it over the material of your jeans.

You think he's joking after what you've done, think that you should be asking _him_ that question, trying to make it up to him. You know that sex isn't the only solution, but God can it help. It's always been like a language that's existed between you that you both understand perfectly, your bodies working in harmony together even when everything else has fallen apart around you.

You can't refuse him though, can't refuse a single thing that he asks of you, so you whisper to him, "On your knees", and he drops down without a moment's pause, undoes your jeans and pulls them down to your ankles. He's good at sucking cock, would win a prize if there was such a thing, is a master at deep throating and teasing you with his tongue and lips, knows exactly how to make it so that you're desperate enough that you beg him.

He's growling now, he's actually _growling_. You can get him to purr like a kitten in your arms, but growling's something usually reserved for you, slips out of your mouth before you can stop yourself.

He moves you closely towards him roughly by your arse, and doesn't even use his hands on your cock, just takes you into his mouth, closes his lips around the head of you and begins to suck, producing a "Jesus" from you that's guttural and drawn out.

There's no playing tonight, he's ferocious and unrelenting, takes you right down to the root so that his nose is nuzzling against your dark pubic hair, and he hums low in his throat. You'd swear that you can feel it vibrating through your entire body.

Steven suddenly breaks off to take off his own trousers and boxers, and you take the moment to stroke his hair, feel the soft tendrils running through your fingers. You love him, you really fucking love him.

He's back on his knees again, taking your cock down his mouth in one clean motion, and the cheeky fucker is jerking off at the same time, so rock solid already, dick lying on his stomach before he palms it. He's making noises, moaning, his eyes drooping. He gets like this when he's impossibly turned on, likes to masturbate when he's at his most filthy, not an ounce of shame on his face, too far gone for that. He's becoming so fixated on what he's doing to himself that he's barely moving his mouth back and forth on you, just stroking the length of him instead, and you're jealous of his hand, want it to be yours, or even better your mouth.

You want to tell Steven to make you come, it's been four fucking days and you're dying here, but he disarms you by getting to his feet once more and whispering "Bed. Get on the bed."

You do what you're told. Steven being submissive turns you on, Steven being dominant turns you on, every version of the boy fucking turns you on.

You lie back on the bed, waiting for him to come to you, to straddle you or sit on the mattress on all fours. You're game, you're his, whatever it is.

"Want to suck my balls?"

You almost ask him if that's a legitimate question, think the boy must be going mad if he thinks he even needs to ask that, and you're there in moments, licking up a path on his thighs and then rubbing your mouth against his cock, turning your attention to his loose sack which is surrounded by a smattering of pubic hair. He'd asked you whether you wanted him to shave once, and you'd almost choked on your breakfast, had barked out "You fucking kidding me, Steven?" and then proceeded to worship every inch of his hair that night in bed.

You begin by licking his balls, but he whines and arches his stomach up, bringing them closer to you. "I haven't had sex in four days Brendan, fucking get on with it" and you grin, so bossy, just the way you like him.

You suck, hear him moan and let out a sigh which sounds like he's just been granted access to the gates of heaven, or maybe it's hell, and he's enjoying the fire.

He's so, so receptive, makes you want to hoist his legs over your neck and fuck the breath out of him, but you settle for enjoying this, massaging his balls with your tongue, listening to the sounds coming out of his mouth. He's all smiles during the day, mouthy git at times but still knows how to be polite and say his pleases and thank yous, but with you it's a whole different story. You see the side no one else does, you reduce him to a quiver, hear him say things that would make a whore blush.

It's spilling out of him now, unstoppable, "You're so fucking...wet mouth, so good...so fucking perfect, you make me..."

You just listen, let it all sink into you, consign it to memory.

He's restless though, all the lethargy that's dragged his body down since Amy left has been replaced by a frantic energy, and he bats your head away and changes positions. He's on you now, kissing your chest, tweaking your nipples, gyrating against you, making you want your cock in his arse even more.

You reach for the lube but he takes it out of your grip and squirts some on his own fingers. He likes fingering you, you know he does, likes imagining what it would be like to be inside you, heat spreading through him from the sight of it, his fingers rocking back and forth against you.

You spread your legs wider for him, invite him in, "_do it, please"_, never begged anyone the way you've begged him. But it's safe, it's secure, he'll look after you, you can be like this with him.

Steven licks your hole before he enters you, makes you keen and then pushes the first finger in, and you grunt, close your eyes, answer his _"does it feel good?"_ with _"feels amazing, can't even describe, just keep doing it, fuck me with them." _His own openness allows you to be open, unashamed.

He stretches you, and you think you could come from this alone, him just applying this same pressure. You're thinking in your head,_ I missed you, I missed everything about you, this and who you are, just never leave me, I can't even live without you._

"You want a second?"

You just nod, don't trust yourself to speak now, just put an arm over your face, feel the sweat which is building there as he pushes another finger in.

He gets off on this as much as you do, you open your eyes and see his face, glowing, eyes bright, looks proud of himself. He should be, you'd give him a medal if you could move your legs right now.

A third finger slips in, and Steven doesn't even ask this time, knows that you want it, can feel the way you contract around it, the sound of your breathing becoming harsher.

"You want to fuck me?" He asks, coy as anything, could murder a thousand people and still have those innocent eyes, that guiltless tone.

"Mmmm."

He pulls his fingers out, and you watch dazed as he licks them, tasting you, those lashes of his fluttering as he does so, knows the exact effect he has on you, that you could _devour_ him like this.

When he readjusts in the bed to allow you to move on top of him, you ask "You want me to go fast or slow?"

"Fast." He pants it, looks close to coming already from watching his fingers slipping into you.

You don't use a condom anymore, haven't done for a few weeks after you got tested at the clinic. Entering Steven bareback has its own kind of pleasure, and you're never going to be with anyone else, so there's no point in using protection anymore.

You give him what he wants, fuck him mercilessly from the off, deep strokes that make his eyes widen and his lips part, that make him cry out and call your name as if it's the only word he knows, as if you're his God and he's worshipping you.

Four days, and you're inside him again. You've never yet found anything on this earth that's as good as this. You can let everything go when you're with him. It just doesn't matter anymore, he makes you forget, is so beautiful that he's all you can concentrate on. _All yours. _

He comes first, not lasting as long as he usually does, but neither do you. You don't even bother about wiping his cum off your stomach, you just let it stay there, let his arms hold you to him in the bed, and you can hear his heartbeat gradually slowing down.

For one horrible moment you truly thought you'd lost him, the blackest place you'd known.

You apologise, over and over on repeat, and Steven knows what for, but he brushes it aside. "We're going to be okay, aren't we?"

"Yeah." You believe it.

"When I said I hated you -"

You quieten him down. It's incredibly meaningless to you now, already gone. You're in that kitchen all over again, except it's not just him holding you and calming you down, being your support like he always is. It's both of you this time, you've survived this together, nothing you can't fucking survive. You'll fight to the death for this boy, love him more than you've ever loved a single thing in your life. In that cellar two years ago you'd told him _"You're not going anywhere"_, but what you really should of said is _"I'm not going anywhere, this is me for life now."_

But there's time. There's time for all of that.


End file.
